Finding Himself
by Donteatacowman
Summary: Who is Dr. Horrible? Let's try to answer that question. Collective one-shots, from the angsty to the fluffy to the just-for-fun, with no regard to chronology. This chapter: Horrible shows up for a certain appointment....
1. Achey Breaky Heart

Below are summaries of every chapter, each one a different oneshot. The format: Chapter number, name, description, classification, and point in time (pre-, mid-, or post-_Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog_).

Table of Contents:

1. "Achey-Breaky Heart":_ Dr. Horrible took a look at himself in the mirror. He had known he wasn't healthy, for an awfully long time. He just hadn't known it was _**_showing_**_. _(Angst, post-Blog)

2: "Laundry Baskets":_ Billy had once read that you could tell more about a person by looking on their bookshelf, or even into their garbage can, than you could ever know in person. He supposed that held true for laundry baskets as well._ (General, mid-Blog)

3: "Now The Water's Rising": _Billy had a secret. It was one he was ashamed of, but that gave him remarkable power inside_. (Horror, mid-Blog)

4: "First to Fall": _Billy at Penny's grave_. (Angst, post-Blog)

5: "Being Her Storm and Her Bay": _Billy and Penny took a walk to the park on an almost-rainy day_. (General, mid-Blog)

6: "See You There": _Billy/Penny rambling gooeyness_. (Romance/Fluff, pre-Blog)

7: "Let the Music Play": _Billy lived in a musical world, one where he could break into song and then reasonably expect musical accompaniment and maybe a couple dozen people singing along.... _(Fluff, pre-Blog)

8: "From A Comic Book": _He was a villain, young Billy decided. It was a hard decision, but a necessary one_. (General, pre-Blog)

9: "Freeze Ray": _Dr. Horrible had inventor's block_. (General, pre-Blog)

10: "The Extra Yogurt": _Why did Penny have two yogurts in "So They Say"? _(Angst, mid-Blog)

11: "Karaoke Night": _Dr. Horrible finally gets over Penny. _(Songfic/Hurt/Comfort, post-Blog)

12: "Comic-Con": _Horrible, stuck in the middle of San Diego_. (Humor, pre-Blog)

13: "Fade to Grey": _His morals were slipping_... (Angst, post-Blog)

14: "Ignorance": _Billy got a glance at his future_. (General/Angst, pre-Blog)

15: "Fever Dreams": _Horrible got sick. _(General, pre-Blog)

16: "Alone": _Billy sat in the lab... utterly alone_. (Angst, pre/mid-Blog)

17: "The Lesson": _Dr. Horrible shows up for a certain appointment. _(Suspense, pre-Blog)_  
_

_Disclaimer: I don't own _Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog_ (which belongs to Mutant Enemy) or anything related. This is a fan work and not made for profit._

_

* * *

  
_

His skin was cold.

He first noticed it on a July day. He had his gloves off for a moment—they were tainted with chemicals and needed to be cleaned—and he'd held a hand to his forehead to keep his throbbing headache from exploding out of his brain. The effect was surprisingly immediate relief, like that of an ice pack.

He pulled his hand away, startled, and stared at his hand like a foreign object. He so rarely had his hands ungloved anymore… He observed it. It was white, almost translucent, from the lack of sunlight. He held it up against the florescent of his lab and frowned slightly. He couldn't see it well enough, so with his other hand he pushed up his goggles.

He recoiled from the sudden brightness that burned his eyelids. He supposed he hadn't had the goggles off much lately, either. Blinking furiously, he walked to his bathroom and pushed open the door, swinging his body militaristically directly in front of the large mirror. He had to switch off the room's light so he could see himself clearly.

His reflected face was pale, so pale, except for the dark circles under his slightly-bulging blue eyes with abnormally large pupils. He wasn't healthy. He had known he wasn't healthy, for an awfully long time. He just hadn't known it was _showing_.

_Bumpety-bum-bum-bumpety-bum-bum_…His headache pounded in time to the rhythm of his heart beating in his ears. He leaned against the shower door, suddenly exhausted, and slid down until he was sitting on the grimy floor with his knees propped up in front of him and his head buried in the crooks of his elbows, his starchy red uniform sleeves pushed up.

_Penny_. The thought came unbidden, as it always did whenever he was at his worst, at his weakest. His chest heaved, but he knew he wouldn't cry—he had lost the ability to do so a long time ago. His stomach tossed around sickeningly, empty, and he let his muscles contract before they relaxed.

He waited several seconds before he was sure he wouldn't throw up, and got up and came to the sink, letting ice-cold water run over his hands as he splashed it on his face. Turning off the faucet, he rubbed his head on a towel. He picked up his goggles and held them for a very long moment.

Then he put them back on.


	2. Laundry Baskets

_Disclaimer: I don't own _Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog_ (which belongs to Mutant Enemy) or anything related. This is a fan work and not made for profit._

_A/N: So I tried to put a couple nougats of symbolism in here. Tell me if you catch them!_

Billy had once read that you could tell more about a person by looking on their bookshelf, or even into their garbage can, than you could ever know in person. He supposed that held true for laundry baskets as well. If you looked in his own, you would see a pile of slightly-too-large, dark-colored hoodies and tee-shirts and jeans. Under those, though, he had stuffed his dirty lab coats, the ones with red and black and green chemical stains and scorch marks that were a normal part of his job. He dug through his pile of clothes, making sure to not reveal his work uniform to the rest of the Laundromat.

At the bottom of the basket, though, under his lab coats, was a single blue hoodie. He pulled it out. _How'd that get there?..._

But, as he sneaked a glance at the redhead across the room, he was distracted from his clothing. Penny wasn't there. _She didn't skip __**another**__ weekend,_ he argued to himself desperately. It took a moment for him to realize that her laundry basket, still full, was sitting next to the washer beside another basket like it. He frowned and went to the large window of the Laundromat, peering outside. Sure enough, she was sitting with Captain Hammer, looking all lovey-dovey _and oh so beautiful_ even with her back to Billy_._ The two of them appeared to be engaged in a duet of the romance kind. Billy made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat.

Turning back to the laundry, he again saw Penny's basket, and a mischievous grin crossed his face. Looking right and left out of habit, he sidled up to the basket and began to sift through its contents. (Her underthings were absent, apparently already tumbling in the washer beside him.) Sunny yellows, sky blues, and grass greens stared up at him. Nothing less than he'd expected from the bright, cheery Penny. Colors of happiness and hope, like Snow White or something. Billy sighed for a reason he didn't quite grasp and pushed the laundry away.

His eyes suddenly focused on the basket next to him because of the familiar yellow logo superimposed on the black tee shirt. Captain Hammer's. Funny, Billy would have branded him a dry-cleaner person. _Probably just trying to get even closer to Penny…_ He pulled the clothes near him, looking at the items. _As if he'd even have a laundry-personality to show me. Egomaniac jerkwad. Lots of I-love-me-tee-shirts and junk. That's all._

So Billy was quite surprised when he pulled out the argyle sweater vest.


	3. Now The Water's Rising

_Disclaimer: I don't own Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog.  
_

_A/N: Possibly AU, depending on your interpretation of Billy's character. _

_Beta'd by the excellent Jamie55._

* * *

Billy had a secret.

He didn't think anyone knew. They could have guessed, possibly, but he kept it stuffed up inside. He tried his hardest to never let a bit of it out, to the point where he began to believe it didn't exist. Moist—he didn't think Moist knew. But there was one person—no, no, not a person exactly—who had somehow guessed. Bad Horse.

How the Thoroughbred of Sin understood the tiny but all-encompassing secret of his, Billy didn't understand. But he got the letter from the League. He was going to be evaluated. It was a test to see if he would let himself run free, and Billy didn't know if he would pass or fail—or even which course was which.

So he decided to wing it.

His secret?

Well, Billy liked people, he really did, when they were all lumped together or when you picked a few of them out, one by one. They were interesting. He had never really gone into psychology, but maybe he should have. He would give anything to see how they thought. How they bought into the lies, the deceptions, even though he was sure they all knew the truth, deep inside.

That was what made him angry.

You see, his secret was one he was ashamed of, but that gave him remarkable power inside.

His secret was **hate**. _Real_ hate.

He was angry a lot, lately. Not irritable, not unreasonable, just angry. Mostly at the world itself. The problem (was it really a problem?) was when he began to hate specific people. Captain Hammer, namely, was the object of his detestation—though if not for him Billy could have easily found another tool to despise, he guessed. There were so many.

That might be why he loved to see other people hurt. Really hurt. Seriously, the crying of his enemies pleased him immensely, appealing to something intrinsic in his being. It wasn't something he was particularly proud of and, truth be told, it was out of his range of control. But there was something to be enjoyed when he saw someone he despised double over in pain.

He kept it a secret, denying it, because he was scared of it. Scared of his anger. Because when he got really angry, he knew he could do spectacular, legendary, amazing things.

And not "amazing" in a good way.

Somehow Bad Horse knew. Somehow, through his ELE application—or maybe his blog, if Bad Horse even watched—Billy had managed to communicate his desperate cry to become the thing he aspired to be, if only he could shake off his moral quails. Bad Horse had seen the villain inside of him, the evil waiting to be awakened, and had given him one chance. A single chance to make Dr. Horrible or break him.

And Billy, he was going to take advantage of that chance.


	4. First to Fall

_Disclaimer: I don't own_ Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog.

_A/N: Yes, too much angst. D:  
_

* * *

It was her birthday today.

He knew because, months that seemed like decades ago, he had looked her up online. He had gotten a copy of her birth certificate, her phone number and address, her social security number….

It wasn't creepy! Really! He just wanted to make sure she was safe. And anyway, it wasn't like he followed her home… except that one time. But that didn't count—he was making sure Captain Cheesy didn't try anything weird. He was keeping an eye on his nemesis, that's all. He had come with his stun rays, just in case. Not that he ever got to use them when it counted.

But, her birthday. Right.

He got her some flowers. Took them to her grave. That sort of thing. Normal, normal. Plus a cup of frozen yogurt—in a paper cup, not its usual Styrofoam. Biodegradable. She'd have liked that.

He brought some for himself too, and he spent the better part of an hour sitting by the tombstone, spooning—er, sporking—frozen yogurt into his mouth. He tried to say something to the bare patch of ground, still devoid of any grass or weeds. But he didn't find the right words, he never had, so he just stayed cross-legged, stuffing his face in silence.

The League was probably watching him. He didn't care anymore. She was dead; what more did they want from him?

Hammer wasn't there. It's not like the superhero'd have even cared enough to find out her birthday. Or maybe he had seen Horrible at the grave and was scared off. Good. Horrible knew it was selfish but he wanted the day all to himself, to mourn her. And maybe he was mourning himself, too; he knew he could never be the same as he had been before. But it was still about Penny. It had always been.

He looked at the tombstone and sighed. It wasn't her fault. Nothing was her fault. She was the only one of the three of them—her, him, and Hammer—who was completely innocent. She was also the only one to die.

But, as he looked at the cemetery, he found himself somehow morbidly glad for it. She was the only one to die. But she was also the only one who never knew. She was naïve to the last. So maybe it was a good thing she had left, for her own sake.

Because he knew that, if she was still alive, she'd be like him. And like Hammer. And like the rest of the world. Broken.

He left the rest of the yogurt there to melt.


	5. Being Her Storm and Her Bay

_Disclaimer: I don't own Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog or anything related—it belongs to Mutant Enemy._

_A/N: I feel it is my duty to grace this Penny-involving ficlet with the news about the Dr. Horrible companion comic (about Penny's backstory) that is coming to __Myspace: Dark Horse Presents__ on Thursday, June 4. :D_

* * *

He stabbed the frozen yogurt with the spork, nodding at Penny and occasionally murmuring "Uh-huh." She was saying something about her last date with Captain Hammer and Billy felt it was better to block out her words. He wasn't ignoring her, of course—he was perfectly content to listen to the sound of her voice, which eventually revealed itself to have a type of rhythm. A low and then a high, a pause, and then again.

The rhythm was interrupted. A pause lasted too long. Billy looked up to see Penny staring at her frozen yogurt, obviously deep in thought.

"But I'm sure it's not his fault," she added suddenly to her previous thought. "He was so sweet about it afterwards…."

He frowned, trying to remember what she had said before that, but gave up when he realized he had lost the thread of the conversation. Instead, he said, "Would you like to go to the park?"

Penny looked up at him, slightly startled. "What? Now?"

"Sure," he said more confidently than he felt. "It's only a block or so away, the Laundromat's practically empty, and our clothes won't be done for a while. And we could both probably use some fresh air?" He ended it in a question, a nervous invitation.

She put her frozen yogurt down, then slid off the washer hesitantly. "Okay."

Billy let himself smile for a second as he pushed the door open for her to go outside.

The two of them walked in silence for a few minutes. Billy, happy to have the subject off Captain Hammer, was swinging his arms. It was a slightly chilly and damp day, but with _her_ beside him, he was more refreshed than he had been in a while. It took all his willpower to keep calm and tell himself, _this isn't a date, this isn't a date._

He sneaked a glance at Penny. She was hugging her arms to her body. His arms fell to his side. "Penny? You okay?"

She smiled at him, kind of. "I'm fine," she said. "It's just the weather. It's a little depressing."

"Depressing how?" Billy kind of liked the way the shadows were cast in the time that predicted a coming storm. It reminded him of his lab in the early evening.

"It…" Penny looked at him from the corners of her eyes. "It's nothing. Maybe I'm just chilly or something."

"You want my hoodie?"

"No, that's okay."

They had reached the park by then. Billy sat down on one of the benches near the pond and slid to its end to allow Penny room to sit. She did so.

"So how's the job search?" she asked, presumably to break the silence between them.

"Good. It's good. Well, not… great… But I'm hopefully getting somewhere. How about your petition? Getting lots of signatures?" Billy diverted the conversation topic back to Penny.

"Not too many," she said with a sigh. "But, you know, you gotta keep hoping."

"Yeah…" Billy said, kicking a pebble with his shoe. He bent down to pick it up and tossed it into the water. Ripples spread around the area where it sunk and Billy smiled to himself.

"Why'd you do that?" Penny asked him, not accusingly.

"Huh?"

"Why'd you do that?" she repeated softly. "The water was nice and calm."

He shrugged. "I dunno. Just sometimes it's good to make a ripple."

Penny tilted her head to the side.

The storm clouds began to gather and threatened rain, so Billy followed Penny when she stood to turn back to the Laundromat. They got back just in time; it had just started to sprinkle. They loaded their respective baskets with clean laundry.

Penny was the first to get to the door. She turned at the last second and her pink-red lips curved upwards. Billy felt his heart beat more quickly as his knees grew unsteady. "Thanks for the yogurt, Billy," she said, and as she walked out the door, Billy felt himself grow as warm inside as the fresh-out-of-the-drier laundry in his arms.


	6. See You There

_Disclaimer: I don't own _Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog_ or anything related._

_A/N: Rambling Billy/Penny fluff. ^^_

_

* * *

_

He loved her.

He knew it as soon as he saw the curve of her smile and the way her hair swished when she walked through the Laundromat door. They were meant to be together, he felt it in his bones. He may be the villain, but couldn't he hope for a happy ending, just this once?

If only he could talk to her.

She was his kindred spirit, his soul mate. He had never talked to her—_really_ talked to her; the random mumblings he tried to use to communicate with her didn't count—but they both wanted the same things. He had heard her talk on the phone about finding her way, helping others, _social change_, for Pete's sake—

And superheroes. She knew. She knew they didn't do anything worthwhile, that they didn't fix the real problems with the world.

So they would work together well. A team, a duo of revolutionaries. They could change the world, rule it, together… It wasn't that farfetched! Sure, he hadn't formally introduced himself to her yet, but that was just a small impediment in the grand scheme of things.

So they could do villainy together. Good. That was nice and all. But, truth be told, when he saw her enter the Laundromat and felt his cheeks grow warm and his shoulders slightly hunch, he wasn't really thinking about villainy as much as he should have been. He was just thinking about her.

Love at first sight: a fairy tale, maybe, but he knew he loved her. This would _last_. There was so much to know about her still, so much of her that he could love but didn't, yet. But he would, soon.

How he would go about it—That was a problem. She wasn't _evil_, he knew. Not a superhero but nowhere near evil. She would get scared off by society's preconceptions about "villains." She didn't seem like the prejudiced type, but he knew that if a superheroine invited _him_ to supper, he sure as heck wouldn't decide to get to know the real person inside; he'd make a break for it and maybe try to steal her wallet.

So he could forgive Penny that much. As if there was really anything she'd done wrong.

One time, he had been waiting for the drier to finish and she had, too. She was sitting on a washer with her legs crossed and he was leaning on one several feet away. He was accidentally-on-purpose staring at her (it was too hard to look away) and she had turned her head just an inch. Their eyes had met. Billy thought he saw a pink blush spread across her face but, before he could do a double-take, she had picked up a book and was rapidly flipping through the pages. He decided he had imagined it.

But that didn't stop him from blushing back.


	7. Let the Music Play

_Disclaimer: I don't own Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog_, _nor do I own the song "Let the Music Play," which is by Shannon._

* * *

He practiced dance steps when he wasn't in the mood for mad science.

It didn't start out as a conscious thing. He lived in a musical world, one where he could break into song and then reasonably expect musical accompaniment and maybe a couple dozen people singing along. This time, though, he was alone. It started with a soft beat in the back of his mind, something he didn't even realize was there for a minute or two. A piano soon joined in with it and he thought he could hear bells or chimes or something.

For once he didn't feel the urge to sing with the music. That was odd, but maybe he was just overhearing someone else's solo from the apartment above him.

He was already a little restless so he put one of his rays—the Freeze Ray, it'd be big someday—aside and got up. He paced back and forth until his footsteps naturally fell with the beat. He thought he could hear a flute, or possibly a clarinet.

Before he knew it, he was stepping from side to side, imagining a partner near him. He lifted a hand and let her twirl, then pretended to take her hand and let her fall low. He stood upright again, letting his feet trace circles around his lab and blissfully counting the beats and measures while the music swelled.

Eventually he let his "partner" drift away from him as the tune slowed and the flute faded out. He smiled and let himself slowly fall into his humongous plush chair. The tune died away with a final chord.

"Doc?" he heard a hesitant voice call from his right. He turned to see his henchman, who had a particularly befuddled expression on his face.

His face warmed. "Moist!" Moist had a habit of bursting into his apartment whenever he was in the middle of a song; at least this time, he had waited until the music had stopped.

"I heard some music, but you weren't singing, so I thought I'd…"

Dr. Horrible waved him off, insisting, "Everything's fine."

Moist cocked his head but said nothing, instead choosing to leave his friend-slash-employer alone with his musical tendencies for a while.

It happened again, a week later. And then again the next Tuesday. Really, it became a habit whenever he stopped thinking about science, when he was in a particularly... enraptured mood.

It was only when he started imagining his partner to be a certain redhead and his lab to be a certain Laundromat that he began wondering if it was healthy.

But if it wasn't, well, he didn't mind _that_ much.


	8. From A Comic Book

_Disclaimer: I don't own_ Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog _or anything related._

* * *

He was a villain, he decided. It was a hard decision, but a necessary one.

Of course he had grown up with the rest of them, the people who ate up the drivel the media fed them. Heroes (the good guys) fought villains (the bad guys). And the heroes always won.

He had identified with the heroes at first. But not real-life heroes--only the heroes in his comic books. They fought for whatever was right; they aimed to protect humanity, even when the world was misled and dead set against them. They used whatever they had on hand, even if that did usually include a wide variety of superpowers.

But strangely enough, at school, no matter how well he used his own natural ability--his mind--he always ended up losing. Getting stuffed into a trash can, being on the receiving end of swirlies and wedgies, getting called "loser" and "weirdo" and "nerd." He hated it. In his comics, the hero always won in the end. Always fixed the problem, got the girl, and saved the world. It was simple and straightforward, and he saw no reason to question it. For a while.

Because even a youth's naive faith in his esteemed world of fiction couldn't keep Billy's devious little mind from _thinking_. He thought about it long and hard. And eventually he realized the impossible:

His comic books were _wrong_. Utterly and completely wrong.

He wanted to help his peers, help the world, and he always did the right thing. But _he _was the one who ended up bruised and defeated at the end of the day. _He _was the one who would never get the happy ending. He was a **villain**. It was a revelation that Billy never forgot.

He thought the label would restrict him. Once again he was incorrect. It opened up _so _many doors! Once he subjected himself to what was expected of him, when he began to take the revenge whenever he could, when he started making those exploding experiments in Lab Science Class on **purpose**, he found that he _fit_. He began to check out the more dusty books from the library, the ones people were afraid to open. Things like _Experiments on the Human Consiousness_ and _The Lies of the Media_ and _The Philosophy of Dictators Past_. He read them cover-to-cover. And he liked them.

On the outside, nothing had changed. He still got the beatings; they were just a little more justified. He still spoke out in class against the things he thought were wrong or inane. He still stayed after school to play around in the Science room and maybe to try to avoid the bullies.

But he knew that everything had changed. He was a villain. And someday, he would take over the world. To fix it. He would be the one who laughed last. With an evil laugh.

Yeah, an _evil_ laugh.

Billy kind of liked that idea.


	9. Freeze Ray

_Disclaimer: I don't own_ Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog _or anything related._

* * *

He stood in front of the dry erase board. And stared. He picked up a marker and began to uncap it, then slowly set it down.

_Inventor's block_. Great. And at the worst possible time. He had just sent in an application to the League, _another_ one, but still--this could be his first big break. He let out a strangled "Gyaaah..." as he held the marker up to his forehead in frustration.

_Think, Billy, think._

_Rays. Rays are what you do best. You've never had any trouble with this before, why should you have any now?  
_  
A ray, right. That was a start, even if he did already have a Stun Ray, and the Trans-Matter Ray was malfunctioning (although he had no intention of letting anyone else know about that)... There had to be a limit as to how many problems you could solve with rays.

No, no, that was wrong, that was the non-mad-science part of his brain talking. That was _not_ the side he needed to listen to at that moment.

He snapped his fingers. Math, that would help. Do some simple problems, start into some more complex and theoretical stuff--that should wake his left brain up.

He clomped to his bookshelf and pulled out a dusty textbook. He flipped it open to a random page and slammed it down on his lap once he sat down on his large armchair.

The faded black print stared menacingly back at him. The numbers curved around and stuck together, forming blocks of typing on the pages. He frowned, fixing his eyes on one line, the beginning of a problem. Soon his eyes drifted away, focusing on something past the book at he leaned his head on his hand. He blinked. _X equals_... His head began to pound.

He let the book slide off his lap and to the ground, heaving a sigh. So math was out. He wiggled his goggles with his hand out of habit, listening to the slight squeaks that came out. He sat there, the large, empty whiteboard filling his vision.

A problem didn't help. What he needed was a solution. Obviously. A solution to... a problem. His thinking began to go in circles.

He needed to get out of the lab.

----------

The Laundromat was crowded that day, more so than usual. It was easy for him to spot Penny, though--he'd had practice. As he set down his basket, he knew his body language was screaming "defensive," but he was used to feeling like a fool when he was near her. He was able to take time to just... watch her. Not in a creepy stalker way. He was watching the way her hair fell around her face, the way she tossed her underthings into the washer, the times she would smile and the times she would not... And he happily felt something inside himself click.

That was one of the moments he wished he could capture and hold close to him forever. One of those times when the world was going too fast, when he wished he could just... freeze time.

But soon she was finishing up with her laundry, and he hadn't even started his yet. A smile ghosted on his face wistfully as he watched Penny walk out the door to the jingle of the attached bell. She was out of sight before he finally dumped his own dirty clothing into the washer and poured an unmeasured amount of soap onto it. He already regretted not starting the chore _before_ he had seen Penny; he was going to be stuck in the Laundromat for a while.

Once the washer had started, he let his knees gently give out so he could rest his arms on the shiny white top of the machine. His thoughts drifted back to the ray-in-progress.  
_  
A problem to solve... But what?_


	10. The Extra Yogurt

_Disclaimer: I don't own_ Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog _or anything related._

* * *

He was angry.

Billy recognized the feeling; it had happened so many times before, just never this tangibly. And he knew exactly why he was angry and exactly whom to direct his anger at. Another couple of firsts.

And this time, for once, he was going to do something about it. He was going to **kill**.

_**Kill**_. The word resonated through his mind, along with _…not elegant or creative; it's not my style_. The last bit he ignored as best he could—it was just a little nagging in the back of his head, nothing more. Surely his magnificent brain could triumph over that! And, if nothing else, it was circumstance that was forcing his hand. It wasn't his fault: Someone _had_ to die. It could either be him or Hammer. And heaven knew the world would be better off with him in charge… even if no one else really accepted that yet.

But he had no time for morality. He was _evil_, after all. He had accepted that a long time ago.

Hadn't he?

He put the matter out of his mind as quickly as possible. He was busy converting the Stun Ray into a Death Ray—it was easy in theory (he just had to up the voltage) but was still a lot of work in application—and he let himself focus on the task at hand. It helped a lot, to steer away from the subject of (_psh!_) ethics.

But pretty soon Wednesday rolled around. His clothes were getting a little grimy and were more stained than usual due to his work in the lab, and his clothes drawers were getting emptier and emptier. His white lab coat had a couple green stains that hadn't been there before and it was the third day in a row that he had worn that pair of pants. Resigned, he admitted to himself that it was indeed Laundry Day.

But _Penny_. He knew he wouldn't be able to look her in the eye until after he had done the deed, after Hammer was out of the picture and once Dr. Horrible had the world ready to hand over to her.

So he did what he had to do; he went to the Laundromat and washed his clothes… he just did it an hour or so earlier than usual.

As he transferred his clothes from the dryer to his laundry basket, he realized with remorse that he had a distinct craving for frozen yogurt. A quick stop at the yogurt place a block or so away would easily fix that, he figured.

But once his laundry was in the car and the frozen yogurt was in his possession, Billy knew he wouldn't be able to finish eating the container. Or even start. He was suddenly very nauseous.

So once again, he did what he had to do. He ordered another container and stopped back at the Laundromat.

He waited there for only about thirty seconds, thinking thoughts like _What'll I tell her when she notices I don't have any laundry?_ and _How will I be able to talk to her after what Hammer did to her? How can I not let on that I know?_ and _I really, really just want to go home._

He was feeling jitterier by the second as he imagined Penny walking through the Laundromat door. He stared at the two frozen yogurts, accompanied by their respective sporks, in his hands. With a sigh, he set them down, both of them on Penny's usual washer. Then he left.

_It's not a goodbye_, he told himself as he walked out the Laundromat door with a glance back at the frozen treats. _It's just a see-you-soon._

It was almost disturbingly easy to move his thoughts back to his Death Ray as he drove away.


	11. Karaoke Night

_A/N: To hear me singing this song (albeit badly), you may go to tinypic . com /r /fu0uqh/6 [remove spaces]._

* * *

He had met her on Karaoke Night.

Some blue-skinned villain had just finished singing some Oh Boyz song (Horrible had covered his ears then; some people were just not meant to sing) and then it was his turn. He stepped up to the small stage and took the microphone from its stand.

Five years ago he would have had to clear his throat nervously and would have shuffled awkwardly around on the stage, waiting for the music. No, scratch that, five years ago he wouldn't have been _near _a stage. Performing, that is. The attempted murder thing didn't really count.

...Even if he had been singing at the time.

But he was stronger now. No stage fright.

The music began to play softly in the background as Dr. Horrible looked out to the audience.

And saw _her_.

He froze, mentally and physically, but somehow his lips formed the lyrics of their own volition, his voice coming through the speakers clearly. _And _on-key.

_  
We've both been through this before  
A love that never stays  
We both want something more  
But in time the urge, it fades_

He felt so foolish all of a sudden. Why in the world had he chosen this song, of all songs, a _love_ song?! He swallowed in the pause between stanzas.

_The hurt will never leave  
The numbness will remain  
And though we each will grieve  
We bear a blood-red stain  
_

He looked down at his lab coat, but his eyes didn't linger. _Ah, yes. Because of the sick appropriateness of the lyrics._

A few chords beat into his mind and he picked up the tempo, keeping his eyes on the mic.

_But we are strong!  
We'll never grow weary  
We've kept up the fight for this long  
Our world might seem dreary, but_

_Maybe all we need is  
A second chance, another go  
As opportunities greet us,  
We have the power to make it so_

_Take the bull by the horns,  
And get up again  
Take the world by storm  
We can make it happen  
Make _us _happen  
_

The music slowed and he took a breath.

_You and I can redefine  
The social norms that keep us trapped  
Show the earth our paradigm  
__Who says we won't laugh last?_

As the music faded, his eyes somehow settled on the woman again. He felt disturbingly Billy-like as he stepped off the stage and into the crowd, ignoring the polite clapping of the musically evil community.

She smiled at him, he noticed, and he smiled back.

* * *

Toward the end of the evening, he finally worked his nerve up. He went to her table. And offered to buy her a drink.

She looked nothing like Penny. Her facial features were softer, for one thing. Plus, she was wearing a mask. She had long, dark brown hair that was pulled up out of her face and had a good deal more make up on than Penny had ever used.

She looked up at him from her seat, and he was surprised by the mixed look of respect, surprise, and... was she pleased? He ignored it--He must have imagined it.

But she nodded at his invitation, and he sat down in the chair opposite her at the small table. And they started talking.

She had _nothing _to do with charity work. She was angry at the world--that's why she was a villainess. And she didn't really get the whole mad science thing. But they agreed that the system was broken, that social change had to happen.

They had something else in common. They'd both been hurt before. And, of course, they both declined to reveal much about it. They were in a dangerous business for secret-sharing with strangers, after all.

He didn't leave the table until it was closing time. But he was sure he'd see her again. He chuckled, a little more giddily than he'd have liked. After all, he had her phone number, scrawled on the creased paper that was clenched tightly in his hand.

* * *

Driving home alone that Friday night, for the first time in five years... He realized. He was finally over her.

He expected a worse emptiness in his chest than he'd ever had, once that realization came. But that wasn't what he felt.

It was a soft contentment that spread over him like a blanket.

* * *

_A/N: Slightly cheesy? But the lyrics are mine. ;) Could you tell a couple references I sneaked in there? Ask me if you don't see 'em. :D_


	12. Comic Con

_I do not own _Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog_ or Comic-Con. I might own Beegirl though. Maybe. She's probably copyrighted by _somebody_ by now._

_

* * *

  
_

San Diego was a big town, Dr. Horrible realized too late. Much bigger than he had expected. Already, the streets were overflowing with traffic. He pounded his goggled head down on the steering wheel of the stolen car. The loud beeping just added to the cacophony of noise that was giving him a massive headache.

Reluctantly, he opened the door of the car and stepped out, grabbing the case of bananaflonium as he did. This was not the best day for an out-of-town heist. He sighed, preparing for a long walk. He had to get out of the city; Captain Hammer, or at least a local hero, was sure to be on his trail by that time. He couldn't afford to waste time on a traffic jam.

So he was quite jittery when he ran into a man on the sidewalk. When the man turned around to reveal a black hammer superimposed on a yellow circle on his shirt and yelled, "Halt, citizen!," Horrible understandably shrieked in fear.

The man frowned and bent down. Horrible could then clearly see that, no, this was not Captain Hammer, and was in actuality a slightly overweight man in glasses. "Hey," the man whispered in his ear as the evil doctor cringed, "Try not to get so in-character. I mean, Dr. Horrible might be a wimp, but he _definitely_ wouldn't scream like a little girl like that."

Horrible blinked. He unconsciously nodded to the man as he backed away slowly.

* * *

Once he had entered a large building that was swarming with costumed people of all ages, he finally understood. It was some kind of whatchamacallit, a "costume play" thing. He had been berated several times about his sub-par costume, and, despite making numerous threats and shoving his Stun Ray in many faces, he was still not getting any answers, much less directions out of the city. Although a person at one booth kept nagging him to buy a comic book called "Captain Hammer: Be Like Me."

(Obviously, he destroyed the man's entire stock of the comics after just reading the first sentence.)

Surveying the bustling room, Horrible finally got it. These were outcasts, hero-worshippers, fans, the kind of person he had been as a child before coming to the conclusion that he was destined to be evil.

He could use these people. Turn them to his side!

A well-worded speech shouted to the crowd, accompanied by a musical number or two, managed to garnish some applause and cheering. But the people eventually drifted away, ignoring his calls.

Eventually, a short freckled girl in a masked bee costume—"Beegirl," big whoop—did join him. She chattered incessantly, though. "You're a fan of Dr. Horrible? Me too. I wrote this one fanfiction where he died, but then, Beegirl came and visited his ghost, and then they got together, and then he decided that he should become a hero. But, you know, wishful thinking, right?"

Horrible found himself almost wishing it was Johnny Snow by his side instead.

"So have you read the comics? OMG, Captain Hammer is _so_ hot."

He went to a nearby wall and beat his head on it repeatedly.

He _hated_ Comic-Con.


	13. Fade to Grey

_I don't own _Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog _or the song "Slow Fade" by Fireproof--which partially inspired this. Song lyrics were removed due so as to comply with FF Net policies._

* * *

Before her... death, his mission had been easy, in concept. He knew he was doing what was right; it was best for humanity as a whole. It was an uphill battle but one he was willing to fight. His enemies, the heroes--they were pompous jerks, deceiving the people, leading them all astray. All Billy had to do was turn the people around, shed the light on the lies of the media.

But that was before. Penny's death had changed everything.

_Well, no, _he corrected himself. Even before that, the world had been flipped upside-down. What had happened?

With a start, he realized he had allowed it all to blur together into a string of painful, sepia-tainted memories. He'd avoided thinking about the whole thing for too long.

Captain Hammer... spending the night with Penny. Or was it when he had gotten the letter from the ELE? Or even his whole obsession with Penny in the first place?

_--That's all it was_, he reminded himself._ An obsession_. Certainly not _love_. If it had really been love, it would be far too much for one man to bear.

Once the whole mess was over, though--once Penny was dead, he was in the ELE, and Hammer had fallen in the eyes of the media...  
Ever since he'd put on that red lab coat for the first time, pulled the shadowed goggles over his eyes...  
Things had gotten harder.

He found himself doing things he'd sworn to never do, things that were able to move his work forward _so _much. And it was surprisingly easy. He'd look through his goggle lenses at the colorless terrified, pained, some even _dying_ faces around him as he worked, testing out rays, doing the League's business, and he'd try to convince himself that this was for the overall good of humanity. And most of the time he'd almost succeed.

Almost.

But it didn't really matter what he thought of his crimes, whether they were for good or for evil, helpful or harmful.  
Because he did them anyway.


	14. Ignorance

…_is Bliss._

_

* * *

  
_

_Disclaimer: I don't own _Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog.

_A/N: I'm sure you can guess the identity of H if you try. ;)_

_

* * *

_

"So what d'you see, H?" Billy bounced up and down on the velvet-lined couch in his new friend's room. It was right after the first day of school, and, as usual, Billy had been stuffed in a garbage can by the older kids as soon as the bell signifying the end of the day had rung. He had struggled to pull himself out, and eventually accidentally tipped over the cylindrical waste container, spilling garbage all over the floor—and himself. Unexpectedly, though, he'd found a hand offered to him. He'd taken it gratefully and was pulled up.

The hand had belonged to a brunette that didn't seem much older than him—maybe even younger. He'd muttered an embarrassed "thank you" as he brushed himself off, and she smiled in response.

The girl didn't offer him a name, but he'd decided to call her "H," because of the stylized letter on her long-sleeved purple shirt. She'd immediately asked him to follow her, because she had something to tell him. His curiosity was peaked.

Billy knew strangers were supposed to be bad news, but his parents probably wouldn't care, and besides, she didn't look all that dangerous. At least, not compared to the bullies at school. She had a mischievous look on her face, but she seemed nice enough, so he went along with her.

So that was how Billy'd found himself inside a big house—big compared to what he was used to, at least—and on the velvet couch belonging to a girl who claimed she could see the future.

Billy was seven and three-fourths years old—just young enough to still believe in the impossible and just old enough to know the difference between his comic books and real life. He didn't think about it then, but it was the perfect time for this "H" to confront him. It was much, much later before he realized that she'd known this all along.

"Let me concentrate." The girl seated across the coffee table from him whispered, frowning. Billy fidgeted, more curious by the second. Eventually, the girl picked up a pencil. She grabbed a nearby piece of paper and began to draw.

Billy blinked, and waited confusedly for several minutes. He was about to interrupt when she shoved the paper towards him.

"You," she said calmly, "in twenty years. Give or take."

Billy stared at the paper in his hands. The drawing wasn't very detailed, or professional, but it got its meaning across. It looked like a newspaper heading, and a rough drawing of a man in a long coat and some sort of sunglasses—goggles, he hoped, he'd always liked goggles—printed on the front page. The man's stance was intimidating and confident as he stared at Billy with a glare that belonged on the face of the villains in Billy's comic books. It was then Billy finally bothered to read the headline that acted as a caption:

"**WORST VILLAIN EVER."**

His heart suddenly soared and a grin broke out on his face. He looked up at the solemn girl in front of him ecstatically, searching her expression for any clues as to the context of the newspaper.

Until he saw the clock behind her. He jumped up. "It's five already?!" he shrieked, almost completely forgetting the paper in his hands as well as "H" or any conventional manners. "Oh shoot, I was supposed to be back an hour ago! When I get home, I'm dead!" He sprinted for the door.

"H" spoke up suddenly, urgently. "Wait—Billy—I didn't tell you that—"

Her voice was cut off as Billy slammed the door behind him.

* * *

It was only after Billy got home (and had been confined to his bedroom instead of having dinner, as punishment for his lateness) that he again noticed the now-crumpled drawing in his fist.

* * *

The drawing, having been smoothed out time and time again, was hung on Billy's wall soon after.

It remained there for years to come.

_Whenever life got him down, Billy found he could always find solace by looking at the drawing, at the successful and confident man inside it, and imagining a brighter future._


	15. Fever Dreams

_Disclaimer: I do not own _Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog.

* * *

_Ugh_.

Dr. Horrible, evil genius-slash-only-slightly-mad-scientist extraordinaire, felt like crud. Really cruddy crud. And on the day he was supposed to be looting the bank! It was to be his first major heist; it would put him on the map for sure. This was the best possible date he could have chosen, the day before the bank moved to a new location. They would be working hard and frantically, easy to scare and probably leaving the money unguarded. He'd been planning this for months.

And now he was home with the stomach flu.

Crud.

With a shudder, he felt the nausea rise up again and slumped down on his couch, pulling his blankets up to cover his chest. This was not going to work, not at all. He'd have to send Moist to do the bank job instead.

He felt his lips curl up distastefully. Moist was his friend, but... this was supposed to be _his_ heist, _his_ moment of glory for once, _his_--

Another wave of nausea hit suddenly, and he leaned over and emptied the contents of his stomach into the trash can beside him.

Nope. Horrible was _definitely _ staying home. And he was probably going to miss laundry day on Wednesday, too.

Maybe Penny would notice he was gone. Maybe even ask him if he'd been all right, the next time she saw him. He smiled faintly, drowsily. His meds were kicking in. He let his eyes fall closed, his feverishly colorful dreams surprisingly pleasant.

Music, and dancing. The laundromat. Penny's eyes sparkling as she laughed. Australia. He bought a shirt with her, for her, because it made her smile. Red, red hair. They almost kissed. Fragments and pieces of dreams swirled around his mind in a cheerful blur. He only woke up when he eventually realized he'd fallen halfway off the couch and had his face planted on the scratchy carpet.

Unable to right himself, he tumbled down, sprawled across his apartment floor. He blinked a couple times before rolling over to look at his clock. It was already three in the afternoon. He yawned, pulling an antacid out of a bottle near him and downing it before he grabbed the television remote and turned the TV on with a click.

Flipping past the news channels, he came across a superhero/villain cartoon and left it there. He rarely liked these programs, but his attention span was short that day and the bright colors drew him.

By the time the fictional hero lost the girl--about midway through the show--he turned off the television. Sometimes, it was better to forego the happy ending and keep the world as it was, frozen in one's memories. Less chance for disappointment that way.

Which was not to rule out social change, he reminded himself. Change was _good_. Change brought good things, like the ELE--someday soon, he hoped--and Penny, and...

He soon fell asleep again, still on the ground and wrapped up in blankets, tossing and turning at the dreams he was dreaming.

These ones weren't so optimistic.


	16. Alone

_Disclaimer: I don't own _Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog _or anything related._

* * *

He poked the ray gun in front of him, then drew his finger back instinctively as it let out a small spurt of electricity. Ouch. He pulled his glove off and stuck his slightly-burnt finger in his mouth, then let it fall as the pain diminished.

He was alone in the lab that night. Again.

On the good days, the ones where he woke up with lots of ideas and had had enough energy drinks, he'd spend his time at his workbench prodding at failed inventions and fantasizing about ruling the world with Penny by his side. Sometimes he'd go out into the living room and surf the internet. Maybe update his blog if he felt like it, even go for a guy's-night-out with Moist.

Today was not one of those days. Today Moist was off doing... moist... things; today was one of the days he'd sit at his workbench for hours on end, holding staring contests with his partially-assembled Freeze Ray. Today was not a laundry day, and today, his blog had no new posts and his email inbox remained empty, despite him checking it every fifteen minutes.

Today, he just felt _off_.

He was a loner, an introvert, or so he'd been labeled by peers and adults alike when he was younger. He'd spent a great deal of his time reading, or playing around with the broken toaster, or wandering the streets of his neighborhood, lost in thought. Eventually, most people learned to leave him alone. He liked it that way, of course.

Most of the time.

He was rarely jealous of Captain Hammer, and he wasn't going to admit to any feelings of the sort, but there were moments when he wistfully longed for the attention of the people, for someone--anyone--to acknowledge what he was doing. To remind him why he was sitting alone under a flickering florescent light at four in the morning among the wreckage of his inventions, tired of imagining the could-bes and the what-ifs.

But he wasn't going to get that today, obviously.

So he settled for propping his head up on his hands and looking at the shadows of his ray guns and mad-science doodads until the buzzing light eventually flickered itself out, and he was alone in the darkness.


	17. The Lesson

_Disclaimer: I don't own _Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog_._

A/N: Written for a prompt by Jamie55. Hey, come on, I'm only a month and a half late...

* * *

The wooden door closed behind him with a _bang_, and Dr. Horrible shuffled forward into a carpeted room. He let his eyes wander for a moment, then walked to a pale leather couch, settling on it with a sigh. He had several minutes to waste before it was his turn. Already bored, he took a handful of magazines from a table in front of him. He flipped through them, skimming the articles. Hammer, Hammer, Elementia, Hammer, Wingspan, Hammer, Hammer, Bad Horse, Hammer. He tossed the first magazine aside with disgust, instead choosing to look through _Villain's Weekly_.

He was engrossed in an article about Professor Normal's cybernetic-organism work when he vaguely heard his name being called. With a slight twinge of regret--he was only halfway through--he abandoned the article and stood up to shake the hand of the man in front of him.

"William Timbre. Call me William," the man said flatly, by way of introduction.

He replied in turn, just as simply. "Doctor Horrible."

Horrible followed the man into what he originally thought was an office. There was a mahogany desk and two fold-up chairs as well as a plush, high-backed chair that was not unlike Dr. Horrible's own. The room was, however, covered with soundproof tiles, and had a keyboard and several microphones scattered about. He noticed a poster decorated with musical notation.

Timbre cleared his throat and Horrible remembered himself, pulling a wad of (obviously stolen) money out of his pocket. It was a lot, really, but this was definitely worth the hefty price tag. Timbre took it without batting an eye, counting out the hundreds. When he was satisfied, he motioned to the supervillain to sit down. Horrible did so, watching Timbre do the same.

Timbre stuck the money in a desk drawer, then leaned forward. His eyes bore into Horrible's and his fingers steepled. Suddenly self-consious, Horrible gulped soundlessly. Timber's expression was serious as he spoke.  
"So," Timbre said. "You want to learn how to laugh."

And the lesson began.


End file.
